


The Road to Skyrim

by Auriana Valoria (AuriV1), Captain_Savvy, SnippetsRUs



Series: The Stormcrown Prophecy [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alfiq, Altmer - Freeform, Angst, Bears, Blood and Gore, Camping, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Cullen with long hair, Cyrodiil, Dark Elves, Dragon Age/Elder Scrolls, Dunmer (Elder Scrolls), Elves, Fantasy Racism, Gen, High Elves, Hostage Situation, Insults, Khajiit - Freeform, Male Bonding, Male Friendship, Minor Character Death, Morag Tong, Mountains, Mudcrab gang violence, Mudcrabs, Nord, Northern Cyrodiil, Other, Partial Nudity, Post-War effects, Racism, Racist Elves, Skyrim - Freeform, Slaughterfish, Thalmor, Violence against Children, Werelion, Werewolves, disguises, lycanthropy, namecalling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-19 02:27:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22637326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuriV1/pseuds/Auriana%20Valoria, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Savvy/pseuds/Captain_Savvy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnippetsRUs/pseuds/SnippetsRUs
Summary: Through subterfuge and the resourcefulness of Nezdal, Jodar-Ri and Zavrian are only a week away from the border to Skyrim. Treacherous figures roam the shadows however, and the Thalmor aren't known for giving up. Will the pair be able to enter the land of the Nords unmolested, or will the high elven supremacists finally catch up to them? Read and find out.
Series: The Stormcrown Prophecy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628665
Comments: 28
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Escape from Rimmen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20806055) by [Captain_Savvy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Savvy/pseuds/Captain_Savvy). 



> **Moodboard credits:**
> 
> Anglo-Saxon pouch and coins by Dewfooter  
> Cat eye by Francesco Ungaro  
> Generic Skyrim poster by Bethesda  
> In-game screenshots from The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Dragon Age: Origins and Dragon Age: Inquisition, found online  
> Campfire by Timothy Meinberg  
> Horses by Esperanza Algaba Davila
> 
> **Mods:**
> 
> New Legion by NordwarUA  
> Long Hair for Cullen by Skaramoosh/The Care Taker
> 
> A big thank you to Auriana Valoria and Captain_Savvy for brainstorming with me on this chapter, and for the proofreading. An extra thanks to Auri for roleplaying Callum's dialogue with Zavrian, and one more to Savvy for writing the lovely piece, Escape from Rimmen, which inspired this fic, and for the lovely artwork of a disguised Zavrian and a long-haired Callum.
> 
> **Art done by the wonderful Captain_Savvy.**

“...and once we had received the water nymphs' blessing, they sent us off, cleverly concealed from the water dragon as we made our way out of Black Marsh.” The male high elf finished his grossly exaggerated tale with much gusto, landing on a sigh of relief that would have convinced even the most hard-headed sceptic that he was telling the truth. All around him, the Imperial merchants who had offered them, and their khajiit allies, a place among their caravans, stared at him in a mix of awe and disbelief.

Jodar-Ri, alfiq and fugitive from Elsweyr, rolled his green cat eyes. He'd lost count of how many times his altmer friend had told this tale, and the enemy chasing them, let alone the location, changed with each telling. The campfire they sat around cracked merrily under the slightly chilled, Sun's Height night of Northern Cyrodiil. For over two months they'd travelled north, during which the tiny, house cat-sized khajiit had been stuck listening to tall tales and eating less-than-ideal food. Worst of all, however, was how he'd had to pretend to be some common cat, and stay inside the wagon most of the time.

Zavrian, despite his talent for annoying Jodar-Ri, always found a way to let the alfiq out and stretch his legs. It would have bothered Nezdal, the alfiq's tall and bipedal cousin, had he known. Fortunately, the altmer was one of the Dark Brotherhood's finest assassins, trained in stealth, subterfuge and the art of persuasion. If he wanted the caravan guard to look away, he'd make it happen. This level of skill was something Jodar-Ri had witnessed only in his fellow khajiit, and _one_ Imperial.

For the alfiq, who had otherwise been a law-abiding citizen all his life, the concept of breaking the rules felt oddly thrilling. He wasn't sure if this meant that his infiltration of the Thalmor embassy in Rimmen had pushed him down a path of disorderly conduct, or if it was simply the elf's influence. Perhaps both.

He'd settle for both. At least then he could blame the elf a _little_ bit.

The sights along the road had been quite diverse. Where Elsweyr had desert sands and tropical forests, Cyrodiil offered green, rolling hills and flatlands as far as the eye could see. Farms stretched out on either sides of the road, and charming towns and impressive cities dotted the landscape. While not as hot as in Elsweyr, the sun was still warm enough that Jodar-Ri and his companions could enjoy themselves. Despite his love for his homeland, the alfiq had grown increasingly curious about the wider world as they travelled.

Although Cyrodiil's lands were beautiful to behold, there were signs of the Empire's war with the Aldmeri dominion in several places. A ruined tower here, a desiccated village there, and graveyards stretching almost as far as the Empire's crops, were among some of the less charming sights.

The alfiq felt no particular loyalty to Cyrodiil, and considered the Empire weak under the leadership of Titus Mede. In Jodar-Ri's mind, the current emperor was corrupt and self-serving, not at all what a great leader should be. However, knowing what he did about the Thalmor after his discovery in Rimmen, and seeing firsthand the destruction that the alliance of Summerset altmer and Valenwood bosmer had brought to these lands, he could only feel ashamed of his people's alliance with them. Not that the khajiit had participated in the fighting, as Elsweyr had been caught up in its own civil war at the time. They had allowed the Thalmor to make camps in the northern part of their lands, however, and that assistance was bad enough.

Not that he could do anything about it. Still, the sights went with him wherever he went, and when the caravan stopped to trade with Imperials, the stories were many and tragic.

It was enough to make the small feline's gut clench with anger. One day, he would bring his proof before the Mane. The alliance with these hateful elves would end, though where that left his people he wasn't sure.

“Water nymphs are actually quite terrifying to look upon for male khajiit.” Zavrian's voice cut through the alfiq's memory path, drawing his attention back to the present. “This is why they always avert their eyes when they come across women in water, regardless of race and state of dress. If the woman turns out to be a water nymph in disguise, and they're caught looking, they turn into common cats.”

Laughter and gasps sounded from the audience. Jodar-Ri glared.

One woman in particular spoke up, a half-Imperial, half-Redguard named Malizah, according to herself. “What happened to your friend, the err... alfiq?”

“Sadly, he was caught looking,” the elf replied. “While the Mane delivered an impressive rescue operation, and subsequently defeated the dragon, my friend couldn't be saved. He now resides in the palace, as a reward for his loyal service. Though he no longer has a name, and answers only to 'kitty, kitty'.”

Sad noises came from the younger humans. One of the children even started crying, asking if they could go find some mages to help Zavrian's friend. “I wish I could meet cats that talk,” one of the older children even expressed.

“No, Talia, we're not going to Elsweyr for trade,” her mother sternly warned her. She didn't elaborate, however, and nobody seemed interested in asking why.

The small khajiit felt more than a little annoyed with the elf's tale, but he knew it was the best way to throw the scent off of them long enough to get to Skyrim. Stubborn liars made people give up asking, and the altmer was as wilful as they came. Of course, Nezdal could have refused the Imperials' offer of hospitality, but that would have raised suspicions. After all, khajiit were known to be charming, sociable and preferring the company of others.

Jodar-Ri was permitted outside this one time by Nezdal, but only because his “cat act” had improved significantly over the course of their journey, and he had found a way to magically disguise himself as an all-black cat. It also helped that he lay in a dark corner behind the back of a tall Nord man who had been quiet the entire time. His shadow hid the small, quadruped khajiit perfectly, though even if he moved, Jodar-Ri needed only roll over once and the tree log the man sat on would hide him instead.

From what the alfiq had gathered from some of the campfire gossip, when the humans had believed no-one from their caravan was within earshot, was that a good number of the people travelling north weren't merchants. Instead, they were leaving Cyrodiil behind in anxious anticipation of the Thalmor's breaking of the White-Gold Concordat, the treaty signed by the Empire and the Aldmeri Dominion in the wake of the Great War. Not a single one of them was convinced that the “racist and genocidal” high elves were interested in maintaining the peace. Not after what had happened in Imperial City.

Unfortunately, Nezdal had chosen that time to return, interrupting the conversation at its most interesting part. There was much he didn't know about the war, Jodar-Ri realised, and the news that had travelled with Imperial citizens visiting Elsweyr had been denied emphatically by the Thalmor.

Seeing as they were nothing but a bunch of liars, the alfiq had found yet another reason to travel – simply broadening his mind and getting to the many truths that the conniving, twisted high elves were trying to hide. The things he could discover, and later use against them. For while humans were a troublesome lot, and a mixed bag of morality, it was becoming clear to him that his people's elven allies were no better. Though he was wondering if “genocidal” was stretching things a bit.

“It's getting late, my friends,” Nezdal's voice cut in and he leaned down and picked up his smaller cousin. “We have a long journey ahead, and much rest to be had. This one, in particular, will be glad to be well rested come morning.”

“Good point,” Malizah said with a smile. “I, too, will be off to bed.” Agreements spread among the crowd, and the parents shooed their children towards their tents. Some complaints were heard, but they all eventually melted into resigned “yes, mother” or “yes, father”, depending. Some were “yes, uncle” or “yes, auntie”. War orphans? That thought made Jodar-Ri's stomach clench.

He didn't have time to ponder it, though, as Zavrian joined him inside their tent. Most Elsweyr tents were open in the front, but the Imperials had strongly advised them to buy the kind that could be closed, and was double-layered, for when reaching Northern Cyrodiil. Despite it being summer, having climbed part of the mountain range that separated this country from Skyrim had introduced the khajiit to a temperature more akin to desert nights in winter. The tents they'd bought offered much better refuge than the ones they'd brought with them, but the Nords travelling with them had advised them to buy even warmer ones for the kind of weather that Skyrim had to offer.

It made Jodar-Ri both curious and apprehensive.

Zavrian plopped down next to him with a content sigh, and pulled his hood down. Like the alfiq, the elf had adopted a disguise of his own. His tattoos were hidden by make-up, he'd meticulously grown out his facial hair and he'd dyed it all black. Then a minor illusion spell coloured his sclera the same way as his irises, giving him that “soulless” appearance that seemed common to many elves.

The khajiit found it a disturbing sight whenever he encountered it. He struggled to see how the altmer themselves considered it a sign of beauty. Well, “pure breeding” was more accurate.

Once they were certain no non-khajiit was near, Zavrian turned to his furry friend and spoke. “That has to be my favourite telling as of yet.”

Jodar-Ri didn't share his enthusiasm. “Water nymphs and dragon in Black Marsh? You might as well claim to be the son of Baan Dar.”

Zavrian shrugged. “It became an entertaining tale nevertheless, and human curiosities are sated. Believe me when I say, my friend, that accomplishing the latter is no small feat.”

“This one has caught onto such a discovery during his travels already, surprisingly enough.” His sarcasm was a bit more biting than he'd intended.

The elf shot him a raised eyebrow. “Eager for adventure, my friend? I suppose I can't blame you, considering you've been holed up either in a tent or the wagon this whole time.”

“The dangers of adventure can wait as far as Jodar-Ri is concerned.” The alfiq shook his head. “No, this one prefers a quiet, uneventful journey where he goes unnoticed by the bigger people in the world.”

“When the blow comes from the least expected source, it's all the more powerful,” the assassin quoted, a popular saying in Elsweyr, and among assassins especially.

Jodar-Ri lay his head down on his front paws. “Truth be told, this one is disturbed by the gossip shared among the humans. Apparently the Thalmor committed many atrocities in the Imperial City, but Jodar-Ri has yet to discover what they were.”

“They murdered civilians,” the high elf replied so casually it caused the khajiit's head to spring right back up again. A wry smile grew on the mer's face. “The brotherhood gets around, it only stands to reason we receive the news that the Thalmor want to hide.”

“Even the children?” To say the alfiq was horrified would be an understatement. Khajiit warriors would battle the soldiers of other places and races, but to turn those weapons against the unarmed and untrained was to taint their honour.

Zavrian looked surprised at his friend's reaction. “It's a common practice among high elves to murder their own children if they don't look 'pure' enough. They're called purges.”

Jodar-Ri's mouth remained hanging open, his eyes wide with shock. Nowhere among Man, khajiit, argonians, bosmer or the mixed-blooded bretons had he heard of such traditions. Not even the at-times vicious and merciless dunmer or orsimer did such a thing. There was much left for him to learn, apparently.

“You don't really look... pure,” the alfiq remarked and drew the elf's attention back to him. “How did the marked one survive such a purge?” There was a slight pause, and the alfiq sensed it was a question he probably shouldn't have asked. “Tell Jodar-Ri only if you feel right to do so, of course.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across Zavrian's face. “There were no altmer around to purge me. I was born in Elsweyr, my mother dying as she gave birth to me. My father... I don't know.”

Sympathy struck the little alfiq with the force of a sledgehammer. “You had no family growing up?”

The elf shook his head. “I didn't say that. I was born into a whorehouse. The whores communally raised us, which was a better fate than most orphans.”

“Then...” the khajiit didn't have the heart to finish his sentence.

“Anyone could be my father,” the assassin completed for him. Despite the gravity of his words, his voice was perfectly calm and matter-of-fact. It made the alfiq wonder how old the elf was.

“You have no clues as to your origin?” Jodar-Ri rose up on his front legs and assumed a sitting position next to his friend. How little he knew of someone who had risked everything to help him! The alfiq felt ashamed.

“You want to know that badly, do you?” Zavrian shot him a teasing smile.

“This one is sorry.”

“Come again?”

Jodar-Ri cleared his throat. “This one is a terrible friend. All this time, Jodar-Ri has been so consumed with himself. He didn't realise that he knew next to nothing about his elven friend, even though he has counted you as such for many years. You have sacrificed everything for this mission that Jodar-Ri hired you for, yet he didn't stop to ask for your thoughts. So this one is sorry.”

For the first time since the alfiq met the elf in Rimmen's finest tavern ten years ago, Zavrian's smile was warm. It was as if the pair had overcome an obstacle in their friendship, and a new level of trust had formed between them.

“Apology accepted,” the elf said. “Truth be told, I have a bit of a thorn in the side for the Thalmor myself, as does the brotherhood. We found their agents infiltrating our group with the attempt to take over. In the end, I had to kill some of my best friends in order for us to remain politically independent.” There was a pause before he continued. “I did keep a journal of my mother's. It's all I have left of my parents, but it's written in aldmeris, and I didn't dare show it to anyone trained in that language.”

“Do you still have it?” The alfiq grew curious, but then thought better of it. “No, best not tell this one. If it's in aldmeris, it could be dangerous.”

“I suspect we shall learn more, once we're in Skyrim.” Grabbing his toothbrush and some Imperial tooth paste, the assassin bid Jodar-Ri good night. The alfiq, lacking opposable thumbs, settled for chewing on his special, Elsweyr root that all khajiit used to clean their teeth. He didn't go to bed until after Zavrian returned, and only once he was certain that the altmer was fast asleep. Then he lay his small body down next to the elf's head to keep him warm.

* * *

Zavrian woke up with his nose buried in Jodar-Ri's fur. Fortunately for the elf, the feline was still asleep. Even so, it took considerable effort on his part to disentangle himself without waking his friend. Then he checked his face tattoo and covered it up with an illusion. He didn't have the light needed for make-up.

Once outside, he was met with the sight of their lone Nord. The campfire from the night before was nothing but smouldering embers now, the pale-skinned man wrapped tightly in his furlined, wool cloak. It seemed even the natives of Skyrim, infamous for their resilience against frost, could still feel the cold.

Considering the guarded look on the man's face, the elf thought it best to announce himself before moving closer. “Good morning,” he called out, and drew the blond's attention. “A cold night even for a Nord, I see. Is Skyrim much the same?” He indicated the tree log that the man sat on, a questioning look on his face. The Nord merely nodded and the elf took his seat.

“I'm afraid I can't tell you how the weather is like there,” he replied. “I've never been to Skyrim before.”

That made the assassin more positively inclined towards the stranger than less so. “Ah, a fellow misplaced.” He shot the man a smile. “I was born and raised in Elsweyr myself. Zavrian is my name, how do you do?” He extended a hand.

The man hesitated slightly before taking the high elf's hand in his. “Callum.”

Zavrian's smile turned into a grin. “So, if not from Skyrim, where does a tall and strong man such as you hail from?”

“You're there,” Callum replied, keeping his gaze on their surroundings even as he spoke. “I was born in Cheydinhal, to the east. Cyrodiil has always been my home. Such as it is.”

“Ah, Cheydinhal!” Zavrian's grin remained. “A beautiful city, right at the foot of some impressive mountains. I went there in my youth, though that is a long time ago now. The sun really brought out its best traits, though in my opinion it looked lovely even in rain.” He noticed a ghost of a smile gracing Callum's lips. Still, there was much hesitation in the man, more so than was normal for the Nords the elf had met. “I have to ask, are you a warrior? You seem to carry yourself as one.”

That was enough to draw Callum's gaze his way. Zavrian thought there was something unusual about his eyes, but he chose not to remark upon it. “I know a bit about fighting, yes. And you, altmer, strike me as an elf who has spent a great deal of time practising subtler arts.”

Zavrian grinned. “Why, thank you. I daresay I enjoy telling tales. I hope you found it entertaining?”

The man turned away again. “That's one way of putting it.” Despite his words, he didn't sound or seem hostile, merely matter-of-fact. The elf found himself appreciating his keen observation skills. There was clearly more to this Nord than met the eye.

“May I call you Callum, or do you prefer a more formal form of address?” he asked, deciding to forego his _most_ subtle skills. “Though, if it's the latter, I fear I will need to know your last name.”

A sigh escaped the man's lips, his eyebrows knitted together in mild annoyance. “My family name is Goldenmane, but Callum will suffice. I have no titles.”

“Then I insist you call me Zavrian,” the elf continued, not missing a beat. “I'd give you my family name, but alas, I've never had one.” He shrugged. “Regardless, perhaps I shall have more luck with my next tale, Callum. A rousing tale of an epic battle, with considerably less near-drowning and unfortunate, magical transformations, yes?”

“I can hardly wait,” the man replied flatly.

Zavrian decided to drop the roundabout way of talking. “We are all one big family in the khajiit caravan, and while I've done my best to keep us safe, we could certainly use another capable swordsman by our side. Especially in Skyrim. Don't be a stranger. We will all need each other soon, I think.” Then he flashed Callum a friendly smile before getting up from his seat. He knew not to push his luck.

“Consider yourself protected, then,” the Nord shot back, causing the elf to pause. “I'm on my way there myself.” His tone had changed from slightly annoyed to slightly amused. Zavrian counted it as a success.

“Of course you are,” the high elf replied and turned back around with a smile. “No Nord warrior worth his salt brings a furlined wool cloak to the Colovian Highlands.” Then he bid the man farewell and set to work checking the camp's perimeter, but not before hearing Callum grumble something about “nosy elf”.

Zavrian grinned. His charm had struck again.

* * *

Nezdal was in conversation with the Nord from the night before by the time Jodar-Ri was all black and ready for a peek outside. As before, Zavrian had managed to get the guard shift and let the alfiq roam about. Once his morning routine was over, the pair approached his cousin and the blond man.

“You can assure this one that he's a warrior?” Nezdal asked Zavrian the second they were within earshot.

“He told me so himself,” the elf confirmed. Jodar-Ri noticed the Nord still wore his cloak, but was dressed in warmer clothes as well. His build was impressive, certainly not that of a common farmer or merchant. “But surely you can tell from these muscles alone?” He indicated the man's arms and chest. “It's exactly the sort that we see on warriors trained with the sword and shield. Quite useful for deflecting arrows. I may be quick with my blades, and Fa'nir is brilliant with the bow, but there's only so much the two of us can do. With Skyrim in the state that it is, the dangers will only increase.”

The bipedal khajiit shook his head. “Nezdal is not convinced.”

“Come now,” Zavrian argued, “look at his build. Why, if I was a dainty maiden, I'd faint right into his arms.”

Callum shot him a withering look. Nezdal merely shook his head.

The khajiit turned back to the blond. “This one would like to know where you were trained before he considers your proposal.”

“The Legion, if you must know,” the human replied, his tone even and his body language calm. He wasn't one for embelleshing, Jodar-Ri noticed. Before the alfiq's behaviour could become suspicious, he rubbed his face up against Zavrian's boot, followed up by the mandatory round of doing the same with the rest of his body.

“Then why do you no longer serve there?” Nezdal pressed. He was suspicious, despite the man being a Nord, a people who had a reputation for being blunt and direct. Then again, the alfiq's cousin had much to lose by letting in the wrong person.

“I received an honourable discharge.” Short and simple, and raising a hundred more questions. Jodar-Ri could basically feel his cousin's frustration. Then the man surprised everyone by adding: “I served under General Tullius, as his Legate.”

“Ah,” Zavrian cut in all of a sudden, “Callum Goldenmane, I remember now. You led a coalition of Imperial soldiers and Elsweyr warriors against criminals harassing humans and khajiit alike. Always slipping over the border to evade capture, but not from you.”

Callum's eyes narrowed. “You're well informed.”

More noticeably, for the alfiq at least, was the drastic shift in Nezdal's attitude. Gone was the scepticism in his eyes, replaced with what could only be described as awe. “This one apologises, Callum Goldenmane. The Mane himself called you a friend of Elsweyr. It would be wrong for Nezdal to decline your generous offer. Our humble caravan would greatly benefit from your protection, if you still wish to grant it.”

Jodar-Ri wanted very much in that moment to remind his cousin that taking in strangers was the _opposite_ of laying low. Especially one as famous as this Nord. Not to mention the alfiq could only maintain his disguise for so long. Callum might even question his extensive stay inside the wagon or the tent. This couldn't possibly end well.

To the alfiq's surprise, Callum wore a look on his face that accurately mirrored his own apprehension. “I'd prefer it if my full name and reputation remained between us, though I'm glad my skills are welcome.”

“Of course, there are some matters we must discuss first,” Nezdal replied empathetically. “You will break bread with Nezdal and his friends, yes?”

“I'd be happy to.” Callum's tone sounded warmer now, and he even smiled a bit. That earned him a warm smile back from Jodar-Ri's cousin.

“Good,” Nezdal said. “This one hopes you are not allergic to fur.”

Callum snorted, though he still smiled. “I wouldn't offer you my services if I was.”

The bipedal khajiit chuckled. “A simple joke on this one's part. He is glad to see you received it so well.” The two men shared smiles.

Meanwhile, Jodar-Ri slipped back inside his tent, a bad feeling having settled in his small stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to Auriana Valoria and Captain_Savvy for brainstorming with me on this chapter, and for the proofreading. An extra thank you to Savvy for tweaking several parts and supplying this story with her delicious descriptions. Savvy's descriptions are the best, tell everyone you know. *insert Hagrid voice here* "Yer a co-author now, Savvy."

A deal had been made between Callum and Nezdal. The khajiit would keep the Goldenmane's identity a secret, and the Nord wouldn't ask questions about the khajiit he travelled with. Callum had been given full stock of their inventory, without any moon sugar or skooma within sight. Jodar-Ri knew Nezdal did this to set the man's mind at ease. Many humans, and Nords in particular, weren't terribly fond of the addictive nature of these substances.

It was a sentiment the alfiq and his cousin readily shared. Too often they'd seen their fellow khajiit back home succumb to these things, and their lives were ruined as a result. This was why Nezdal preferred trading in spices, silks, carpets, jewellery unique to Elsweyr and fine drinks. He even had a wagon enchanted to hold more content than its outward appearance would suggest. A pricy investment, as he liked to call it, but he knew his wares were precious to humans, and in Skyrim especially. He'd chosen well in going north.

In exchange for his swordarm, Callum was also offered a nice sum of septims. The man declined the total amount, insisting he needed only a little. To him, the food, bedding and company already covered much. As the alfiq later learned, he was going to Whiterun, the capital hold of Skyrim, which was the same destination as Nezdal's caravan. In a way, it made sense for the Nord to think he didn't need more.

Still, to Jodar-Ri who much appreciated the comforts of Elsweyr, it was a most bizarre notion. This was why he pulled a pillow over to Callum's bedroll one evening, while the Nord was out brushing his teeth. The man had promptly tossed it away, to much objectionable hissing and growling from the alfiq. Jodar-Ri had then taken advantage of the man's confusion to bite into the pillow and drag it back, his growls muffled as he went. Once the cushion was back in place, he glared at the Nord for his lack of gratitude.

From a dark corner of the tent, Zavrian's voice spoke up. “Ah, you tossed aside such an act of kindness, Callum. No wonder he's upset.” Leave it to the assassin to enter the tent without even the alfiq's keen nose picking up his scent.

The Nord shot a startled glare in the direction of the voice. Then he frowned. “I've no need for such extravagance.”

Jodar-Ri sat down on the pillow and let out an argumentative meow. His glare was matched with a similar one from Callum.

“I spent most of my life in the military. I don't need this.” The blond's voice sounded final.

“Meow!”

“Pillows are for nobles and southerners.”

“Meow _meow_!”

“...I'm arguing with a cat.” Callum pinched the bridge of his nose.

“ _Meow_!” Had he not been concerned with maintaining his disguise, the alfiq would have scratched the Nord up badly for that insult.

“All the more reason to admit defeat,” Zavrian cut in, amusement dancing in his golden eyes at the display before him. “Believe me when I say that winning an argument with a cat is as likely as uprooting all of Tamriel and tossing it into the sky.”

The elf, on the other hand, had just earned himself a bleeding wound or two.

Callum rolled his eyes, but acquiesced, grabbing the pillow. He even waited for the alfiq to move, and then he lay down, his head resting on it. Pleased, Jodar-Ri trotted up to Zavrian and gave him a questioning look. The alfiq needed to relieve himself, and he wouldn't do something so gross inside.

The elf nodded and motioned for the tiny khajiit to follow. He found them a secluded spot among some bushes, and gave Jodar-Ri the privacy he needed. It was too dark outside for anyone other than Nezdal's guards to be outside, so the alfiq concluded it would be safe to talk, though he kept his voice soft.

“Tell this one why you hinted to the Nord to travel with us?” He'd been asleep, but not so deeply that he hadn't heard the conversation Zavrian had with Callum, before Nezdal awoke.

“You were supposed to be asleep, my friend,” the high elf replied. “You are becoming quite skilled at stealth, not even I can hear you. This spells trouble for me.”

“Answer the question or face retribution for calling this one a cat.”

Zavrian sighed. “My danger sense has been in high gear right before we came to the Colovian Highlands. I suspected we could use the extra help.”

“How did you know the Nord could be trusted?”

“Few Nords live outside of Skyrim,” the altmer said enigmatically. “I combined my appraisal of his physique with my knowledge of Nords who served in the Legion _in_ Cyrodiil during the last fifteen years. He strikes me as quite young, for a legionnaire. He probably didn't serve in the Great War, which most Nords in the Legion did.”

“So?”

“So,” Zavrian went on, “with most Nord veterans divided about the civil war in Skyrim, the ones that have been recruited in the Legion have all stayed up there. When our Nord friend confirmed he was from Cyrodiil, more specifically Cheydinhal, I knew he was _the_ Callum Goldenmane.”

“That still doesn't answer this one's question.”

“Anyone who grew up in Cyrodiil during the Great War,” the assassin pressed, “and served in the Legion so faithfully as to become the Legate of General Tullius, bears no love for those who would threaten us. Even if he should be the type to abandon his allies, which is the opposite of what his reputation suggests, his desire to travel as an unknown gives us leverage.”

“You know things about the Nord that Jodar-Ri and Nezdal don't?”

“Only rumours, my friend,” the elf said with finality in his voice. “The deal he made with your cousin is solid. Trust that, if you can trust nothing else.”

There was a moment's silence between them. “This one trusts _you_.”

Another moment of silence followed. “I know.” Zavrian's voice was strangely warm when he spoke, with just a hint of affection. For a moment the alfiq felt a bit awkward, though he didn't regret his words.

They headed back to the tent in companionable silence shortly after.

Jodar-Ri suspected the elf hadn't figured out _everything_ about Callum on his own, but he chose not to share his suspicions. The elf was only so willing to share information with him, and the khajiit didn't want to risk their friendship to get his paws on more. In a profession like the assassin's, a danger sense was mandatory for survival. If Zavrian said there was an elusive threat somewhere, then he was probably right.

It brought a chill down his furry back, however, and he spent many nights snuggled up against the elf just to feel safe. To his credit, the altmer neither commented on it nor pushed him away.

They reached Bruma, last major trading stop before the borders of Skyrim, four days after taking in the ex-legionnaire. Nezdal was eager to stop and trade, as there were many things they needed, but Jodar-Ri couldn't get to the land of the Nords quickly enough. Despite how the elf probably appreciated a more calm, laid-back approach, the alfiq couldn't help but worry. Zavrian's words had him on edge, and every bit of interaction with someone not of their caravan caused his tail to slip between his hind legs and his ears to flatten against the top of his head. His stomach was twisted in knots during their entire stay there and he shed so much fur he caused Nezdal to worry. Only the sight and presence of Zavrian helped the poor alfiq calm down, and usually only if the elf reassured him that nothing was out of the ordinary – and let the khajiit lie down in his lap.

It was most fortunate he stayed inside the wagon the whole time, or he would have completely ruined their plan.

He cursed the Thalmor for their stress-inducing practices. They should try honesty for a change. It made life considerably less complicated.

Three days later and the caravan moved on. Nezdal spoke cheerfully about the profit he'd made and how they were far better prepared for Skyrim's cold weather than when they'd first set out. Jodar-Ri remained hidden under the mundane, wool-lined tent that his cousin would probably enchant for added space at the first opportunity. Zavrian kept him company whenever he could.

The fact that they travelled with the refugees and merchants from Cyrodiil did nothing to help him calm down. Their addition of Alik'r mercenaries only made him uneasy, even though said group was said to be as fond of the Thalmor as they were a bad rash. Redguards or no, mercenaries went where the coin took them. If the altmer supremacists wanted to get rid of them, all they had to do was wave a sum of septims their way that the humans couldn't match.

Sleep became increasingly rare for the alfiq as they went on.

They passed through the Imperial checkpoints without incident. Nezdal spent their second day in Skyrim on enspelling the tents. Callum remained by their side, though dressed in Imperial armour now. When Zavrian didn't return upon the appointed time, the alfiq had a nervous breakdown. Reduced to tears, he finally confided his fears to his cousin, who could do nothing but hug the little khajiit tightly and let him sob helplessly into his fur. When the elf finally _did_ return, Jodar-Ri refused to leave his side. The confession had helped a bit, and Zavrian offered his small friend some much-needed advice on how to deal with his fears.

Deep breaths. All the way down to the stomach. Then slowly exhale. Repeat until stomach knot loosens.

To the alfiq's surprise, it actually worked.

Jodar-Ri wept into the altmer's leathers after that, this time apologising for being so overly worried. The elf told him to repay him by getting a good night's sleep. Jodar-Ri obeyed, and managed most of the night, though a nightmare woke him up prematurely and caused him to unwittingly dig his claws into Callum's leg. The Nord wasn't terribly happy to see him after that.

On the ensuing evening the next day, as the caravanners settled in for the night, Zavrian and Fa'nir were nowhere to be seen. Even Callum kept his distance, his hand never leaving the hilt of his sword. Not that it was unusual for the guards to keep watch, but there was something about Callum's posture, and the way he kept sharing glances with the other mercenaries, that had Jodar-Ri worry. The alfiq was still inside the wagon, and he had no desire to step outside, but he was afforded a limited view of events through a slit between the carriage and the canvas. For the rest he listened to the gossip.

Then there was the fact that the children were kept inside the other wagons and the horses, while given food and drink, were still connected to the carts.

There was only one conclusion the small khajiit could draw from this. They were expecting an attack, and they expected it _soon_.

A part of the alfiq wanted to help, but he knew that the best he could do was hide. It was terrifying to think of what would happen if the Thalmor found them, but if he made his presence known to them, it would only make things worse. Zavrian could hide from them, or wear a mundane disguise to throw them off. Without the presence of Jodar-Ri, the Thalmor wouldn't have the evidence needed to make an arrest, or execution.

Pulling at a drawstring with his mouth, as instructed by Nezdal, the alfiq opened up a small trapdoor that led to a compartment just the right size for him to hide inside. He was about to step in when a figure entered the wagon. Jodar-Ri hid, but when he saw Zavrian crawling towards him, he stepped back into view.

“What's the Marked One doing here?” the alfiq asked, concern heavy in his otherwise soft voice. “Everyone is safer with you outside, lurking in the dark where the Thalmor can't see you.”

If Zavrian heard him, he didn't show it. “The papers we copied from the embassy, you hid them away?”

“Of course,” the alfiq replied. “This one keeps it all in a place not even the Thalmor will think to find them. Why?”

The assassin fished inside his armour and pulled out a leather-bound book. It was somewhere between journal and tome in size, held together by a leather strap and with an iron lock to keep its secrets safe. “I need you to hide this for me, my friend. Preferably in the same spot as the other things.”

Jodar-Ri felt confusion wash over him. He hadn't seen this book before, and the poor lighting in the wagon made it hard for him to see clearly its carvings. Why would Zavrian give this to him, when he could just as easily safeguard it himself? “Surely the Marked One is perfectly capable of protecting this. Why ask Jodar-Ri for help?”

The altmer shot him a sad smile. “I've been a terrible friend too. I made you worry by sharing my suspicions with you. It would have been better for your health had I kept my mouth shut.” He leaned in a little closer, his merriment dying down. “They will be here soon. I do this in the name of the only friendship I have left.” Then he got up and slipped out of the carriage before the alfiq could press the matter further.

Confusion and fear made Jodar-Ri want to throw caution to the wind and follow his friend. He knew he couldn't, and his reason won out in the end. Using a spell of transportation, he spirited away his friend's book, but not before summoning a ball of light that allowed him to study it closer.

The carvings were intricate, smooth and done to perfection. They were also elven. High elven, to be exact.

This couldn't be...

Shock and horror set in as he realised exactly what his friend had planned. Gone was any thought of safe travels, though he still cast the spell to hide this precious item. Jodar-Ri ran towards the canvas opening, and moved to peek his head out.

Just in time to hear the sound of shouts coming from Callum and the Alik'r warriors.

It was enough to deter even the alfiq, who ran back to his hiding place and climbed inside. Then he closed the trapdoor shut and cast a spell that rendered the whole compartment invisible. Fortunately, the enchantments on the wagon and the tent were enough to cover up this minor spell. Then he waited.

* * *

Zavrian returned to Fa'nir's side up in the trees just as the Thalmor justiciars stepped up to the camp, calling for everyone to lay down their weapons. The elf signalled to the khajiit, who nocked an arrow to his bow and pulled back the string. Fa'nir looked to him and the elf's fingers flashed in a sign language that he'd taught to the khajiit during their journey. It was a very useful thing to know, as khajiit could see in the dark. Zavrian, by contrast, had to use magic to accomplish the same. _Wait for my signal_. The archer nodded and turned his gaze back to their enemy.

Hopefully they didn't have to fire a single arrow.

Dressed in the dark robes of a Thalmor wizard, a male altmer who was tall even for his race, sauntered into the camp, acting like he owned the place. He was accompanied by a wizard of a smaller stature, though no less arrogant in attitude. The Alik'r had taken up a defensive formation around their employers, and Callum stood ready at Nezdal's side. Children were either embraced by their elderly relatives or made to sit behind the adults inside the wagons. After regarding every member of the caravan with disdain, the taller mage finally turned his gaze towards the leader of the khajiit.

“Nezdal, cousin of Jodar-Ri of Rimmen?” The high elf's voice was deeper than that of the stereotypical altmer, with a sickeningly pleasant undertone. It reminded Zavrian of someone, though he couldn't place him.

Nezdal bowed, but didn't step forward. “This one is present.”

“We have reason to believe you're hiding fugitives from Rimmen among your caravan.” The wizard went straight to business. “A tattooed high elf who's an assassin of the Dark Brotherhood, and an alfiq, more specifically your cousin.”

Nezdal shook his head. “Nezdal holds no fugitives here. It's true an elf travels with us, but he is a wood elf and bears no tattoo. An archer, not an assassin. As for my cousin, this one has not seen him for many years.”

“A cat that matches his description has been seen among your entourage,” the Thalmor countered.

The khajiit, to his credit, remained calm. “The only cat that travels with us is all-black and has yellow eyes. This one may not have seen Jodar-Ri in a long time, but last he did, his cousin was black and white, and with green eyes.”

“Quite the coincidence, for you to have both an elf and a cat travelling with you.” The Thalmor didn't back down.

“It is common for one or two cats to travel with khajiit caravans,” Nezdal shot back calmly. “They make good company on the road. As for the bosmer, we needed the added protection, and wood elves are friendlier with khajiit than...” he sized the altmer up and down, “most. The road is dangerous, especially here in Skyrim. His skills are quite valuable.”

The Thalmor cocked his head to the side. “Then I trust you have no trouble bringing your feline forth for us to examine him. Or the elf, for that matter.”

“Gladly, though the elf went to relieve himself and the cat is like cats are.” The khajiit shrugged and offered a helpless smile. “It's hard, even with Nezdal's keen senses, for him to keep track of this little companion.” There was a slight pause before he continued. “Hopefully he has not been eaten.” Then he let out a low chuckle.

Judging from the awkward silence that followed, the Thalmor were not amused. “Either your friends come out now or we search your wagon, which _reeks_ with magic. _That_ is certainly not normal for merchants.”

“This one has more merchandise to sell than a normal wagon can hold,” Nezdal replied to the elf's unvoiced accusation. “The enchantment helps with storage. Nezdal has all the papers in order, if you wish to see them.”

“I wish to see the alfiq and the altmer traitor,” the high elf replied pointedly. “If you won't bring them out for me, then we will have to use force.”

Callum immediately cut in. “I don't recommend that.” His voice was deep and menacing, and his hand clenched and unclenched near his sword. Apparently the elf's height did nothing to intimidate him.

The altmer completely ignored him, his gaze fixed on Nezdal. “Keep your dog in check or I will have his tongue.”

Before the Nord could retaliate, the khajiit stepped between them and held up a hand for Callum to stay back. The warrior obeyed, but his hand was on the hilt of his sword now, and his shield was easily within reach.

Zavrian nocked an arrow to his bow and aimed for the tallest wizard. Fa'nir looked to him for confirmation, but the assassin waited. There was still a chance to get out of this situation without drawing blood – and thereby attention.

Predictably enough, their search through Nazdir's wagon turned up nothing. Zavrian took a deep breath, counting down the seconds until the Thalmor gave up.

Instead, the mages stepped behind their justiciars and ordered them to drag the civilians out of their wagons and butcher them.

The Alik'r and Callum moved immediately, but were met by six justiciars with swords and shields in hand. The wizard loudly declared that he and the other mage would set their employers on fire if they so much as unsheathed their weapons. The seventh justiciar, aided by a cloaked figure, stepped inside one wagon at a time, dragging out the helpless refugees and gathering them in a single pile on the ground. Then the elves gathered around them.

“I received a full report on Jodar-Ri's psychological profile,” the altmer explained. “Apparently, he's soft on civilians, and dislikes it when they come to harm in altercations like this.” Whimpers and frightened moans came from the people in question, the children clinging to the adults and looking up at the uncaring, elven warriors in sheer terror. “If your alfiq cousin does not come out of his hiding place, we will kill one human at a time. Starting with the _children_.”

Zavrian cursed silently, especially when he saw a familiar, small figure slip out from underneath Nezdal's caravan. The alfiq was still hidden in the shadows, but it wouldn't be long before he stepped into full view. This was guaranteed to draw too much attention, and ruin everything they'd worked for. Simply attacking the Thalmor didn't solve the problem, either. He had to enact a desperate plan, and he had to execute it to perfection. Taking a deep breath, he aimed his bow at the justiciar holding his sword raised, ready to strike down an eight-year-old girl. Her aunt jumped in to cover her, but was roughly yanked aside by the Thalmor-loyal stranger. The act of doing so caused the person's hood to fall back. Zavrian got a full view of Malizah, the half-breed from Cyrodiil.

There would be a special kind of revenge in store for her, the high elf thought darkly. Then he adjusted his aim and let his arrow fly.

He didn't wait to see if it hit his mark, but judging from the pained groan from the justiciar and the surprised yelps from the humans, the elf surmised he'd hit his mark. Zavrian climbed down from the tree, jumping down the final distance and going into a forward roll before he grabbed a nearby coinpurse from Nezdal's wagon.

The khajiit turned, his eyes wide with surprise. “What are you doing? What is the meaning of this?” Clearly Nezdal hadn't expected such a bold move from the altmer, but his lines were generic enough that they gave Zavrian just the opportunity he needed to protect him further.

He shot the merchant a cold look. “I'd apologise if I cared, but I don't.” Then he placed the purse on his belt and undid his illusion. Unlike previously, he'd gone full in with a magical disguise, so his tanned skin, yellow hair, golden eyes and black tattoo all became fully visible. “It's nothing personal, it's simply that your usefulness to me has run out.” He paused before adding. “I did like the fish, though.”

An angry look came to Callum's face. “I knew you were nothing but trouble!” He readily sneered in disgust. Zavrian didn't doubt for a second that the man's dislike for him was genuine. Fortunately, it helped Nezdal further.

“That's him!” The tallest Thalmor mage pointed at Zavrian. “That's the tattooed bastard that murdered one of our agents.”

The high elf wasn't even surprised by the lie. “So that's what I'm accused of this time? How quaint.”

“You should have stayed in the shadows,” the wizard sneered.

Zavrian's brain finally made the connection and he recognised the wizard as one of the elves who had barged in on him and Jodar-Ri in the palace. A very specific one, in fact. He shot the mage a smirk. “And you looked better as a clown.”

A short silence followed where the wizard's face took on a look of sheer hatred and rage. “Surrender now, and you will be given a swift death.” The words were spoken through clenched teeth, his voice considerably deeper.

The assassin raised his bow, an arrow nocked and pointing at the mage. “I think I'd rather live to see another day.” Then he let loose, the missile intercepted by the justiciars, as he'd expected. He turned around and ran, dropping the bow in the process. For this operation, he needed to be swift, and the weapon only slowed him down. Altmer voices shouted for the warriors to follow, and the assassin jumped straight into the underbrush. He'd studied the area earlier, and had already planned his escape route. Hopefully, all the Thalmor agents would follow him, and his alfiq friend would remain hidden.

He also hoped Jodar-Ri wouldn't be _too_ worried.

* * *

Curse that damnable elf! He'd just gone off on a suicidal one-man mission, and for what? Protecting the alfiq? Jodar-Ri watched in horror as one of his oldest and dearest friends ran off, luring away the leading wizard and three of the justiciars. The mage shouted for the remaining force to search every wagon for the alfiq, and kill anyone who resisted.

Considering how the elf Zavrian had shot in the neck now lay dead, he was very much convinced that they'd enact horrible vengeance upon him and his cousin if he was discovered. His gut clenched, even as he moved as quietly as he dared towards a large bush. If he remained out of sight, then Nezdal's chances of survival were better.

“Step away from your wagons, now!” One of the justiciars yelled to the Imperial merchant hiding behind the Alik'r.

“Please,” the man begged. “There's delicate items in my stock. Treat them with care, I beg of you.”

The Redguards, however, remained in place. “There's only four of you now, and a traitor,” the leader of the mercenaries remarked. “Do you like your chances, elves? Because I'm certain my blade will drink deeply of mer blood tonight if you take one step closer.”

“You lightly armoured maggots are no match for us,” one of the justiciars snarled back, “and our mage can destroy you before you so much as draw your weapons.”

“The Alik'r do not stand alone against you,” Callum warned. “I'm well-trained in your fighting style, equipped accordingly, and,” he shot the wizard a pointed look, “well trained in killing mages.”

“I can slit the throats of these civilians faster than you can come to their aid,” Malizah shot back. Jodar-Ri chanced a glance and saw her twirling a dagger around in her hand with expert skill.

She was a problem, though he failed to see how she could handle that many civilians on her own.

“We have reinforcements ready to strike down your pathetic attempts at resistance,” the mage threatened. “Ten justiciars and two more mages await my command!”

A short silence followed, and then Callum spoke. “For _one_ elf?”

“Must be some assassin,” one of the Alik'r muttered.

“In the case of armed resistance from mercenaries like yourselves, obviously,” the mage shot back. Jodar-Ri could veritably _hear_ the elf roll his eyes. Looking around, he spotted several figures moving around in the dark. It didn't seem like the mage was bluffing, though from what the alfiq could see, he may have exaggerated the numbers.

Still, the travellers were horribly outnumbered, and not even Fa'nir was enough to make up the difference.

Quietly, he slipped behind the bush and crept around in a big circle. He heard the sound of rummaging, some precious items shattering and the Imperial merchant wailing in despair as his livelihood was cruelly destroyed.

Jodar-Ri frowned, his ears flattening in frustration and worry. The Thalmor were nothing more than thugs.

He strongly disliked revealing himself in this manner, but he had to do what he could to save the civilians. Taking a deep breath, he prepared to cast a particularly nasty Destruction spell on Malizah, one that would also send her flying far away from the civilians.

The dying screams of altmer out in the woods froze him in his tracks.

“What's the meaning of this?” The mage yelled. “Justiciars, to me! All of you!”

Jodar-Ri looked and saw the three warriors form a protective formation around the wizard, but none of the “ten justiciars” out in the woods seemed to come to his aid. Instead, sounds of battle came, with blades clashing, grunts and hollers left and right, and then a single justiciar came limping into the light, his helmet missing and his hand clasped against a wound on his neck.

He managed to choke out “Morag Tong” before the blood gushed forth from his mouth and he collapsed to the ground.

Perhaps seventeen justiciars and five mages hadn't been overkill in Zavrian's case after all. If the wily altmer survived, Jodar-Ri would most certainly track him down and demand some answers. It was peculiar, though, how no spells were flung around in the forest. Had the infamous order of dark elven assassins struck the hidden mages first, or had the Thalmor mage been overly boastful?

“Malizah, find Jodar-Ri,” came the next order from the Thalmor wizard. “Do whatever it takes! He's the key to this entire operation!” Then he set to work casting defensive spells on himself.

The woman immediately obeyed and grabbed the eight-year old girl from before. She pressed her dagger against the child's throat, a half-mad look on her face as her eyes darted back and forth like that of a skittish deer. “Come out, come out, _kitty, kitty_ , or this little piglet dies.” Tears ran down the child's cheeks and she sobbed hard. Her aunt called for her to not struggle, and then begged Malizah to take her instead.

One of the Alik'r warriors spat. “You disgrace humanity, you filthy Thalmor's whore.”

She laughed bitterly. “So I go where the money is. I find it's much like a certain group of _mercenaries_.”

“A whore would be an improvement from her current standing,” one of the altmer warriors supplied unhelpfully.

Jodar-Ri cursed himself for his hesitation. His spell would electrocute both Malizah and the girl if he cast it, and he knew no magic that would get the woman to let the child go. The Morag Tong, whatever reason they had for being in Skyrim, probably had their hands full with the justiciars. Callum and the Alik'r couldn't move while she held the girl hostage. Fa'nir might get a good shot in, but that could very well result in the child getting her throat slit. It seemed there was only one option left.

The alfiq stepped into the light.

A triumphant smile broke out on Malizah's face. If it hadn't been for that mad look in her eyes, that visage might have actually been reassuring. Instead she clung to her hostage even more. “No magic tricks, khajiit, or the girl dies. Give yourself up to the Thalmor now, and let their mage restrain you.”

Jodar-Ri's stomach fell. This was worse than death, especially if the rumours about how the Summerset high elves treated their non-altmer prisoners were true. Still, what other choice did he have? Let the girl die?

He couldn't live with himself if he did that. No amount of political scandal was worth an innocent's life. With his tail between his legs and his ears flat against the top of his head, the alfiq moved in the direction of the wizard. The mage muttered the words of an incantation and the tiny khajiit felt something akin to iron latches lock down his limbs until he could no longer move.

“He has been subdued,” the elf confirmed. He then demonstrated his power over the alfiq by turning him around with a mere wave of his hand. Jodar-Ri was afforded full view of the eight year old girl. Her eyes held relief and gratitude in them, and she even smiled a bit.

Malizah then slit her throat.

Blood gushed forth from the child's neck and she fell forward, gasping for air and sputtering out blood much the same way as the justiciar from before. Her aunt cried out in equal parts disbelief and despair, a sound that tore through the alfiq and created in him a mixed sense of shock and blatant nausea. Callum shouted a loud, despairing “NO!” that only added to the horror that the tiny khajiit felt, and shocked gasps sounded from the audience. He had surrendered himself to the Thalmor. These people had nothing to do with why the altmer were here in the first place.

Why, then, had she killed the child? Try as he might, he couldn't make sense of it, and that didn't even begin to account for the disgust and fear that he felt over what he'd just witnessed.

Malizah laughed, a sickening level of amusement at the atrocity she'd just committed. Not a single Thalmor objected either. Instead the mage cast a spell that opened up a circular rift in the fabric of reality. “The portal is ready. Let's go.” He turned to the remaining humans, who stood still in stunned silence. “Let this be a lesson to you 'warriors' to not so much as speak the next time we Thalmor appear.”

Jodar-Ri panicked as he was dragged along the ground toward the portal, completely powerless to do anything about the situation. He could still hear the aunt's anguished wailing overtop the battle that raged on in the darkness around them.

Suddenly an arrow sizzled through the air and slammed into the shoulder of the mage. His concentration was shaken and the spell broken. As the elf groaned in pain, Jodar-Ri found he had control of his limbs once more. In that moment, the humans leapt into action. The Alik'r advanced on the fleeing Thalmor, curved swords drawn.

“Thalmor, we retreat NOW!” The mage's voice was thick with pain as he deflected another missile and backed hurriedly toward the portal.

“Wait, you said I could come with!” Malizah yelled, leaping over the bleeding child and dodging a swipe at her flank.

“Grab the damned alfiq and you may,” the wizard growled right back.

Jodar-Ri sprung to his paws and dashed between the woman‘s feet as she attempted to grab him. His heart raced; his gaze was on the portal. He would not let these bastards escape! An arrow suddenly struck Malizah in her right shoulder. She stumbled back from the impact, which gave the alfiq just the time he needed to dispel the magic that maintained the Thalmor portal. It dissipated completely, and with their escape cut off, the altmer had no other choice but to turn fully toward the fight.

Blades clashed and clanged. Fa’nir’s arrows whistled through the night. Righteous anger and bravery drove the humans and khajiit to protect their own – but nothing could have prepared them for what happened next.

A deep, bestial growl sounded from where he'd last seen Nezdal standing. Jodar-Ri turned, but found it wasn't his cousin who had suddenly gone feral. In fact, he had taken to hiding with the other merchants. The alfiq's eyes widened in shock and fear at who he _did_ see.

Their Nord companion crouched there instead, but he had grown in size. His armour and clothes were torn, his golden hair having turned to fur that covered him from top to toe. A wild mane sprawled over monstrously broad shoulders, and when he rose to his full height he towered over every other being in the camp. His eyes held a fiery rage, his countenance a grotesque mockery of human and feline alike. Only in myths and stories had Jodar-Ri heard of such a creature, and he never expected to see it in a Man from Cyrodiil.

His entire aura suffused with fury, Callum Goldenmane had taken on the form of a werelion. The creature balled his clawed fingers into fists and tossed his head back to let out a roar that shook the very ground.

“By Auri-El!” The sight and sound of the Nord's new form was enough to give the Thalmor mage pause, his voice trembling with fear. Though it was only a brief distraction. A split second later, a streak of lightning shot forth from his finger, raising the tension in the air and making Jodar-Ri's fur stand up.

It struck the lycanthrope in the shoulder, causing him to stagger and howl in pain. Yet it did not take him down. Rather, he focused his golden gaze on the Thalmor. Then he bent down on his front legs and pounced.

“We can stop it,” the alfiq heard as he jumped out of Callum's way. He looked up at the aunt of the girl with the slit throat and found that the child was still alive, though the wound looked very serious. The woman had a red-stained cloth pressed against the wound and the girl's head was in her lap. “We can save her.” There was blood in many other places too, but the khajiit paid no heed to that.

The child was _alive_.

He moved in with the intent to cast his most powerful healing spell on the girl, but his tail was grabbed and he was yanked back. Jodar-Ri looked over his shoulder to see Malizah grinning at him. “Got you!”

The alfiq found he'd had quite enough. He hissed dangerously and struggled to pull away despite the pain it caused. There was no time for this nonsense, he had to get to the girl before it was too late! Finally he spun around, using the woman's grip on his tail as his momentum before she could fully snatch him off the ground, and dug his claws deep into her gloved hand. She wore leather, but it wasn't thick enough to protect her. A pained yell sounded from her lips and her grip loosened. Jodar-Ri pulled free and jumped back down, focusing his will on a nearby log behind Malizah until he could control it with his mind. It then flew straight towards her even as she tried to grab him a second time. The impact with the back of her head sounded quite painful, and judging from how the woman grunted and fell down, effective. He didn't stay to admire his handiwork, however. Instead he rushed towards the wounded child, immediately setting to work on his healing spell.

He leapt onto her chest and sat down, ignoring all potential interruptions as he focused on the casting, his position still giving him full view of the battlefield. A warmth washed over his entire being and spread to the girl, his small form lighting up with bright healing energy. He saw Callum tear through the remaining justiciars, the Alik'r doing their best just to get out of the wild beast's path. The beastman knocked down the last elven warrior before advancing on Malizah. His fur was matted with mer blood, his claws and teeth in particular. The Alik'r took advantage of their ally's momentum and finished off the prone high elves. Malizah dropped her dagger, backing away from Callum with her hands raised, palms facing him, to signify she was unarmed.

Whether the Nord had seen through such a guise or he was too much beast to care, he launched himself at the woman, even as she made a run for it.

Growls were heard, followed by grunts, and then a beastly roar and a woman's scream signified that something had happened to them. Jodar-Ri's heart leaped into his throat. He knew that lycanthropes were dangerous, and he didn't know Callum as well as he did Zavrian, but it sounded like their bodyguard was in trouble. Surely the Morag Tong hadn't tried to kill them both?

Jodar-Ri's healing spell ended, the bodies of the justiciars twitched in death throes and a long silence followed. The alfiq stepped away from the girl and walked quietly over to Nezdal. It was as if everyone held their breaths, wondering if they'd be visited by more Thalmor, a murderous werelion or a traitorous woman with a penchant for slitting children's throats. The healed child coughed, drawing his attention her way. Her eyes were open, blinking, and she looked up at her aunt in wide-eyed surprise. Said woman merely petted the top of her head, tears of relief now flowing down her cheeks.

“You'll live, girl,” she choked out and sniffled. “You'll live.”

A single, lithe female figure stepped out of the shadows. “Zavrian!”

Jodar-Ri paused. He knew that voice...

Nezdal was the one to reply. “The elf fled, drawing Thalmor agents after him.”

A curse in the dunmeri language escaped the woman's lips. Then she fled back into the night, with no explanation for her convenient presence and helpful demeanour. Another long silence followed, with only the slight rustling of leaves marking the passing of the dark elven assassins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now that the fluffy, General Audiences chapter is out of the way, it's time for Explicit level BLOOD, GORE AND LYCANTHROPY.
> 
> Because why not?
> 
> Also, why is "violence against toasters" an established tag and "violence against children" not? Are toasters more abused in fics than children? Do fic writers simply have more against toasters on a personal level? Leave your thoughts in the comment section below.


	3. Chapter 3

Jodar-Ri had sat on the girl and purred until she'd felt better, and her gratitude for his aid and enthusiasm about meeting an alfiq was a balm on his anxious soul. The Alik'r had tossed the Thalmor bodies into a ravine, and then joined their employer and the civilians in deciding on a very different route than the one the khajiit were on. No blame was cast upon Nezdal or his cousin over what had happened, but they had all concluded that the humans would be safer from the Thalmor on their own. Everyone even agreed to keep Jodar-Ri's true race a secret, and they would avoid the racist high elves wherever and whenever they could. Nezdal and Jodar-Ri bid them farewell with blessings and well-wishes – as well as clean clothes for Lily, as the girl was named. Once her aunt was done cleaning away the blood on them both, that was. The khajiit merchant even gave the girl and the other refugee children plush cats to help cheer them up. He got long, warm hugs in return for his kindness. About an hour later, the caravan was on the move once more, with the khajiit staying behind.

Jodar-Ri understood why his cousin had decided to be so generous. While it wasn't directly their fault what had happened to these people, these refugees were still down on their luck and had suffered a terrible attack just now. A little generosity would go a long way to help, and it was a good way for Nezdal to show a kinder and gentler side of the khajiiti people.

Callum remained missing, as did Malizah. Jodar-Ri carried a knot of worry in his stomach as he lay down inside Nezdal's wagon. They were _two_ bodyguards short now, and Whiterun was nowhere in sight. Skyrim remained dangerous, and while it was unlikely they'd get Zavrian back, they should at least look for the Nord. His cousin insisted the alfiq get some rest after his exertions, but it didn't feel right. In the end, he jumped back out and approached his cousin.

After much arguing, the merchant agreed to let Jodar-Ri search for Callum. The alfiq sprinted through the underbrush, his night vision and keen nose leading the way. He almost stepped over a short, but steep cliff, and he froze. Callum's scent was strong here, coppery blood mixed with bitter sweat and an earthy undertone, which put the smell of the pine forest behind him to shame. He identified singed fur next, probably from where the mage had shot him. It came from the bottom of the rockface, wafting up from the dark void with the promise of certain death if he jumped down.

It took some searching, but eventually he found some boulders nicely stacked, almost like a natural stairway. He caught a second scent when he did, and it caused his fur to stand up and his ears to flatten against his head in anger. It was much the same as Callum's, but the blood had a sickeningly sweet smell to it, and there was a distinct overtone of fear.

 _Malizah_.

Jodar-Ri resisted the urge to growl. He continued down the path, though his tail was a fluffy brush in his anger.

He found the traitor first.

Her body was in a pitiful state, the ankle of one leg twisted and the same fate having struck the entire lower part of the other. One shoulder looked to be dislocated and her waist was angled in a most unnatural way. Clearly, the fall had been quite hard on her. It made the alfiq worry about Callum's fate.

In his concern for the honourable Nord, he tried to hurry past, but ended up stepping on the woman's mangled arm, which elicited a groan in response.

The alfiq's eyes widened. The woman was still alive! Feeling a need for answers rise within him, he jumped on top of her un-dislocated arm, and found a bit of satisfaction from the pained grunt that followed. Growling at her, he managed to draw her attention. Her one good eye widened in fear.

“Tell to this one why you betrayed him and the others to the Thalmor,” he hissed menacingly, “and he will ease your passing.”

A moment's silence followed as Malizah's fear melted away in favour of what could only be described as loathing. When she spoke, it was slowly, but with a clear voice. “You pathetic babies, you always have to have a _reason_ for everything, not wanting to face up to the facts.”

Jodar-Ri narrowed his eyes. “It's foolish for a human to aid the Thalmor in any way. Did you not consider that they would abandon you at the first opportunity? They hate the race of Men.”

A bitter, cynical and short laugh escaped her lips. “I don't care about the Thalmor. I go where the money is.”

“Was there extra money for killing a small girl?” He fought hard to resist the temptation to dig his sharp claws into her neck.

“She annoyed me,” was the off-hand remark. When a silence followed between them, she sighed. “I don't need another reason, she was a little brat! And no, the Thalmor didn't specifically order me to set an example, they merely improvised on my actions. It wasn't as if I couldn't just grab another child to hold hostage.” She coughed a couple of times, a rasping sound accompanying each one. “Had it not been for those damned Morag Tong and that archer of yours...”

The alfiq's mind and heart went to a very dark place. There were so many ways in which he could make her suffer, to pay for the damage she'd inflicted. She deserved it, she had no remorse even on her deathbed. If ever Jodar-Ri looked into the face of true evil, it was in this very moment. Probably no-one would miss her, if she treated others the same way that she had the refugees.

A groan sounded from further down the steps, however, in a _male_ voice. It tore the khajiit out of his vicious thought patterns and reminded him of something far more important than his personal revenge.

Callum was alive and needed help.

Malizah didn't deserve mercy, but neither should Jodar-Ri go down a path from which he may never return. He extended the claws in his free paw and, with a swipe, gave Malizah the same treatment that she had to Lily. Unlike the murderous woman, he aimed specifically for a major artery, and he proved far more effective. Blood gushed forth, her one eye widened and the alfiq moved on as she choked to death.

Another groan sounded from Callum, considerably more human than beast, and the alfiq sped up his steps.

* * *

Vague images, blurred, swam before Callum's vision. He remembered the smell of blood. Thalmor soldiers on the ground, their mage screaming as sharp claws tore him up. Blood on claws and teeth. He could taste it on his tongue. A woman harassing a small khajiit. The khajiit fighting back. A rush to the small creature's aid, chasing after the woman as she ran through the dark forest. Smelling her sweat, her scent, her _fear_. Gripping her by the neck and raising her from the ground.

She begged for her life. Something gripped at his heart, fear mixed with disgust, and he put her back down.

 _He_ put her down. Callum. The Goldenmane. General Tullius' former Legate. He had been the beast with claws and sharp teeth. The Thalmor and their human pet had been _his_ victims. Their blood was on his tongue.

Again he'd lost control, and again the “gift” of Hircine had reared its ugly head. He groaned, even as the images of Malizah stabbing him in the back came next, followed up by him grabbing her as he fell down the cliff. She'd broken his fall, and the fall had probably broken her.

Guilt and horror washed over him in equal measure, not because he particularly cared about any of the people he'd killed, but because he'd done so in a form he couldn't control. Travelling with merchants had proven a peaceful distraction, and the journey through Cyrodiil had helped ease his mind a lot. Even Zavrian's tales, as terrible as they were, had offered a suitable distraction.

Then the Thalmor had arrived. Their hostility and thuggish behaviour had triggered some long-buried memories, reminding him of the horrors he'd witnessed as a boy. His survival instinct and need to protect himself had coupled with the lycanthropy venom in his blood, and gone was any self-restraint. The beast had come out, and now he lay in darkness, his body aching in several places. He tried to move, but found himself unable to. The smell of blood was on and around him. A couple of groans escaped his lips, and he found he was somehow propped up against a rock. That was the only thing that kept him sitting, however.

This would truly be his end, then? Death by rocks and lack of self-control? Quite the headstone that would make. At least he wasn't far from Falkreath, rumoured to be Skyrim's graveyard, he thought with bitter resignation.

“Be calm, Callum Goldenmane,” spoke an unfamiliar, male voice, “this one has come to help.”

He could see nothing inside this pit, though judging from the manner of speech, it sounded like a khajiit. It was more high-pitched than Nezdal's, however. Could it be..? “Are you...” he found it difficult to talk, “the alfiq?”

“Jodar-Ri is indeed an alfiq,” the voice confirmed, “and he apologises for the deception on our way north. He didn't think the Thalmor would find us, let alone commit such blatant atrocities.”

“I had secrets of my own,” the Nord shot back and coughed, finding it hard to breathe, “and the Thalmor and atrocities go hand in hand.”

“Please hold still so this one can heal you,” the khajiit bid. Callum resisted the urge to point out to the intelligent feline that he was unable to move anyway.

“I'm still,” the Nord replied, and then added. “Thank you.”

“Thank this one after he has healed you.”

Something small pressed gently against his arm, though it felt like a heavy load of iron had been placed there. He resisted the urge to make a sound. Chanting in some archaic language followed, and a light shone from the cat-like healer, an aura of brightness and warmth. Callum felt it seep into his body and light him up as well, soothing pains and repairing damage everywhere it went. Where previously he'd been cold he now felt warm, his muscles relaxing even as the spell was cast a second time. His breathing improved and when the last bit of pain faded he sighed with relief.

He turned his head towards the alfiq, even as the last bit of light disappeared and he could no longer see him. “I owe you my life, khajiit.”

“No,” came the reply. “You risked yourself for everyone, including Jodar-Ri and his cousin. This one owed it to you to find and help you.”

There was a slight pause before Callum spoke again. “What happened to Malizah?”

“Dead.”

“You saw what I am?”

“Yes.”

“And yet you came to my aid.”

“This is correct.”

“Aren't you afraid I'll lose control again?”

There was a slight pause as the Nord awaited the khajiit's answer. It wasn't what he expected. “This one saw you as a beast. Jodar-Ri was frightened, he won't lie to you. Yet, you didn't harm any of the Alik'r, khajiit or other humans. This one knows that's a sign that you're gaining control, albeit slowly. He will trust you... if you will trust Jodar-Ri.”

Another silence followed. “How can I not trust someone brave enough to sacrifice himself to save others? Although you don't strike me as a warrior, you most certainly are as honourable as one.”

“There is no honour in lying or pretending to be something this one is not.”

“It is if it's for the protection of the common folk.”

Once more the alfiq grew silent. “This one thanks you for the trust, Callum Goldenmane. He hopes you are good enough to walk?”

“With a khajiit's night vision to guide me out of here, I should be fine.” Then he rose to his feet, finding his body felt almost as good as it did after a thorough massage. On the general's orders, of course. Callum never took the initiative for those things himself.

“This one can do even better,” the alfiq replied. A single word and a ball of light appeard above his head and floated towards Callum. It wasn't the strongest light source, but it afforded the Nord _something_ to guide him with. Also, it seemed to be stuck to his chest. “In case Jodar-Ri gets too far ahead. Now let's go.”

Callum didn't need to be asked twice.

* * *

Rushing at top speed, his feet moving as fast as he dared, Zavrian made a direct beeline down the mountainside. His destination was Falkreath, more specifically the last hideout of the Dark Brotherhood. The mountain air was crisp and clean, and so long as he didn't smell any of the Thalmor, he'd feel relatively safe. When he found himself running out of road, with little but boulders down a steep cliff ahead, his descent became all the more difficult.

In other words, all the more exciting.

He alternated between jumping, skipping and climbing, planning out his route as he went. The Thalmor yelled at him to stop, and soon he heard the telltale sound of their armour clanking as they jumped down after him. Unsurprisingly, they made more noise than him, elves though they were. Fortunately, that made it easier to know their general location. He landed on a dirt path, to the right of which seemed to be a cave. It carried with it the stench of urine, making him guess that it belonged to a bear or two. Zavrian looked around, but spotted no wild beasts, bandits or monsters, so he proceeded down the path towards what looked to be a main road. Already he could see the town of Falkreath on the horizon.

His limbs froze, however, and even though nothing appeared to change, it felt as though they were locked in place. Before he could think of his next step, his nose caught the scent of sweat mixed with a sickeningly-sweet perfume. Into view came an all-too familiar altmer wizard with a penchant for clown costumes.

“You didn't _really_ think you could escape from us, did you?” The clown, as Zavrian's mind decided to nickname him, sneered. Behind him was an oval-shaped portal so dark it looked as if it led into Oblivion itself. Considering the rumours of Lord Naarifin committing human sacrifices to the Daedric Lords in Imperial City, he wouldn't be surprised if that was actually the case.

Zavrian made a grunt, thus finding he could speak. “I thought it worth a try.”

The justiciars came out of the portal next. Zavrian was disappointed to see there were only three of them. That meant his plan hadn't been a complete success and Jodar-Ri was still in danger. The portal disappeared behind the warriors with a mere flick of the mage's wrist.

“You couldn't save your alfiq friend either,” the mage went on, sauntering about the place with his hands behind his back, as if he had all the time in the world. If Zavrian got him to yell or draw blood, it might just wake up the bears. A risky thing, but possibly worth it. “My colleagues are apprehending him as we speak.” He paused and turned around. “It seems you have only your life left, though that's easily remedied.”

Having no way to free himself and, even if he did, he'd be cut down before he could get away, the assassin shot the wizard a defiant look. “Take your best shot, wizard. Not even you could miss now.”

The satisfaction drained away from the Thalmor's face and immediately after did Zavrian suffer a punch to the face. His face twisted to the side, the impact harsh, blunt and stinging. Stars danced before his eyes and he could taste blood in his mouth. For a mage, he packed quite a punch! Zavrian resisted the urge to make a pained noise, though he was certain his cheek would bruise and that his nose was broken. “You're a disgrace to the altmer race.” The mage spat on the ground, his face twisted in contempt.

“And you're a disgrace to all of Nirn,” the assassin shot back, which earned him a punch to the gut. This time, his hardened leathers protected him, and the mage was the one who took damage instead. Like Zavrian, however, he refused to show it. He even straightened and, after pulling some of his black hair out of his face, resumed a more calm exterior.

Or, as humans had lovingly nicknamed it, the stick-up-his-

“Tell me, for what purpose did you infiltrate our embassy in Rimmen, disguised as one of us?” So it was time for interrogations.

“I wanted to dress up as a clown for Jester's Day,” he began, “and my friend and I decided we wanted to pull a prank on you.”

The Thalmor's eyes narrowed. “You don't _seriously_ expect me to believe that?” It seemed he'd found enough composure to ignore the assassin's more obvious barbs.

Zavrian remained calm as he spoke. “Did we take anything from your embassy?”

Hesitation shone in the mage's eyes, albeit briefly. “No.”

“Did we kill or attack anyone from or at your embassy?”

The Thalmor's eyes narrowed and his voice grew firmer. “No.”

Zavrian smirked. “Then where's your evidence of anything other than mischief?”

While the mage's gaze didn't waver, looks of doubt seeped into the eyes of the justiciars standing behind him.

“If all you were up to was mischief, you would have remained to tell us,” the wizard argued, which took some of the hesitation out of his warriors.

“An assassin like myself would be killed, not questioned,” Zavrian countered, “and you Thalmor torture khajiit to death over even the tiniest of slights.” The mage opened his mouth to object, but the assassin was quicker, hissing with blatant hostility his next words. “Don't bother lying to a member of the Dark Brotherhood about such things! We know perfectly well about the profanities your organisation commits. I've even witnessed it first hand! Nothing eludes the likes of Sithis or the Night Mother!” Then a cold smile grew on his lips and he eyed the mage from bottom to top. “You alone should have four contracts on you by now.”

He'd probably earned himself a premature execution, but considering the look of discomfort on the wizard's face, Zavrian considered it an acceptable trade-off. It seemed this oh-so-righteous mage had a few skeletons in his closet. A shame the Brotherhood was no longer the formidable organisation it once was.

Not that Zavrian particularly cared about whether or not his colleagues survived, let alone managed to rebuild. It was more a matter of having some leverage to use against these blasted Thalmor.

“You might not have committed any crime in Rimmen as far as we can prove,” the mage argued, having regained his composure, “but you still killed one of my justiciars.”

“He smelled bad,” Zavrian shot back flippantly.

“It was an unprovoked attack on your part.”

Zavrian's smile died down. “I beg to differ, seeeing as he was about to murder a civilian, a _child_ even.”

The mage tsk-ed. “It was just a human, and a girl at that. At best her only purpose would be reproduction, and for a race that's well-populated already and in no need of more. Completely worthless.”

“But a crime nevertheless,” Zavrian shot back, “all for the sake of luring out an alfiq over actions that you can't even prove were criminal.” A sardonic smile grew on his lips next. “The holy justiciars, reduced to child-killers, only for the saviour to be an _assassin_. You _Thalmor_ are the worthless ones, corrupting everything you touch, if you don't kill it first.”

A scoff came from the wizard, and then it was his turn to deliver a cold smile. “It doesn't matter that we have no proof of any crimes. I'll just kill you here and tell my superiors you murdered one of our own.”

“My point proven,” the assassin shot back sharply and let out a disapproving tsk in a final act of defiance. “You're probably more removed from Auri-El's grace than I am.”

Any amusement still left on the Thalmor's face disappeared and he unsheathed the dagger on his belt. “You've spoken enough.”

The blade flashed in the light of the moons, a high slashing motion aimed at his throat. It was precise, for a mage, Zavrian noticed in macabre appraisal, the action all too slow in what would be his final moments at last.

Then the Thalmor stood frozen solid, the tip of the blade hovering a bare inch away from the assassin's neck. Zavrian felt a tremble behind him, and then he was pulled backwards by some unseen force, even as the justiciars rushed to grab him. The elf then found himself momentarily surrounded by a perpetually dark and dismal realm before he crashed on top of a hard and unforgiving boulder. Stars danced before his eyes, as did a dark, swirling portal that swiftly closed before he could ask any questions. His limbs were still locked, until a Morag Tong agent stepped into view. The dark elf waved his hand, and the assassin found he could move once more.

“You really ought to save the insults for when you're in a crushingly advantageous position,” chastised the dunmer's arrogant voice, an almost whiny tenor that Zavrian had yet to associate with male dark elves, let alone their contract-killers. He smelled of leather and ash, but with an earthy undertone that the altmer couldn't identify. While dressed in the characteristic armour of the Morag Tong, including the typical helmet and full-face mask, the dark elf wore a neatly embroidered scarf around his neck. He also trembled, a common reaction in everyone except Nords. “Urgh, Daedra curse this blasted weather! Of all places to go, did you have to choose _Skyrim_?”

Zavrian shot his timely rescuer an odd look. “Do I know you?”

“No,” came the brusque reply, almost a bit too abrupt, as if the dunmer went out of his way to not create any association, “and if your dear friend had simply done her job better, I wouldn't even _be_ here.”

Seeing as there was only one Morag Tong member Zavrian counted as a friend, dear or not, he easily concluded who he meant. “Eltrys is here?”

A short silence followed as the agent regarded him. “You're not as dumb as you look.” Then he motioned for Zavrian to stand. “Now, be even smarter and get out of here. I haven't got all day, and those Thalmor are loud enough to wake that cave full of bears.”

Judging from the loud shouting that took place above them, Zavrian saw his point. “I suppose I should thank you.”

“Don't be foolish,” the assassin from Morrowind snapped. “If you know what's good for you, you will forget the Morag Tong was even here. Especially if you truly mean to head off to Falkreath and seek out Astrid of all people.”

Zavrian's eyes narrowed, confusion washing over him. “What do you mean by that?”

“Let's just say that never in a million years would our organisation put someone like her in charge, and leave it at that.” Then he teleported away, his voice ringing loudly again somewhere above the high elf. “Ah, the Thalmor! I was wondering where Morrowind's clown costumes had been shipped off to!”

Zavrian found his new surroundings were basically a secret passage hidden by boulders. Continuing his descent in the direction his fellow assassin had pointed, he continued on his path, albeit slowly and quietly.

“Tell us where the Dark Brotherhood assassin is and we'll spare your life!” It was the mage who spoke.

The agent's response was a mocking parody of the Thalmor's voice and words. Zavrian briefly wondered where that fellow's “crushingly advantageous position” was, but shook the thought aside. He also disliked being indebted to a stranger, despite how it seemed he didn't want the altmer to even consider them connected in any way.

However, with the long history of bad blood between the Brotherhood and the Tongs, it was hard not to take notice of his nightly rescuers. Not that Eltrys hadn't aided him before, and he her, but that had been born out of a friendship in spite of their differences.

It most certainly didn't apply to the rest of the organisation!

A part of him was glad Eltrys was there, but he was also apprehensive considering that Skyrim was Brotherhood territory. While seeking out his fellow assassins hadn't been his first choice, he had no other options now that he'd separated himself from Jodar-Ri. Not that his fellow assassins were in a state fit to war with the Morag Tong, and Zavrian would certainly not mourn their deaths, but he needed their protection.

Hopefully Eltrys and her fellows would leave Skyrim once the last Thalmor lay dead. Then Zavrian would send her something to express his deep gratitude.

“Why would you intervene in Thalmor business?” The altmer heard the mage press. “What have you against us that would drive you to attack us outside your territory?”

“Nothing,” the mysterious agent replied, Zavrian noticing a slight nasality to his tone that he hadn't picked up on before. “In fact, we worship the Daedric Lords too.”

“Forget I asked!” The assassin could practically hear the wizard spitting those words. Zavrian had to bite back a laugh, silently congratulating the stranger on his ability to keep the Thalmor distracted. Prickly personality notwithstanding.

The sound of blades clashing came next, as well as the discharge of loud and flashy Destruction spells. Zavrian chose this moment to pick up the pace, as the sounds were loud enough to muffle his footsteps. He sent a prayer to Mara that Eltrys survive the fighting, a rare thing for someone basically raised in the ways of the Dread-Father. Then again, if anyone would bring protection to even a daedra-worshipping dunmer, it would be the goddess of love and mercy.

Once clear of the immediate danger, and with no more bear caves in sight, he made a run for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to Captain_Savvy and Auriana Valoria for proofreading this chapter and helping me improve it. Also, another thank you to Captain_Savvy for the gorgeous and heartbreaking artwork of Callum and Jodar-Ri.
> 
> Also, apparently this story will be four chapters long, because I keep picking up sidequests. I blame Zavrian's 100 Speech skill.
> 
> Mysterious Morag Tong figure is mysterious. Who do you think it is? Leave your thoughts in a comment below! :D Kudoses, bookmarks and sharing across social media platforms are very much appreciated! Thank you for reading my fic! :D


	4. Chapter 4

The stone walls of Falkreath drew closer. Zavrian breathed hard as he ran for his life. Beastly roars echoed up in the mountains, at first sounding like that of bears, but then there was an undertone to them that sent a chill up and down his spine. He'd heard rumours of Falkreath being a nesting place for werewolves, and if they'd caught the scent of blood on the wind...

His gut wrenched with concern for Eltrys, even as he skidded to a halt on top of a large boulder. The drop wasn't far enough that he'd hurt himself, but if he made it, he wouldn't climb back up as easily. In case his friend could use some help. Logic dictated this was a bad idea, however. Right now, the people of Falkreath heard the roars of beasts, not the flashing steel of the Morag Tong. He could more easily gain protection from the Brotherhood if the presence and aid of the dunmer assassins remained unknown. Despite his worried heart, he jumped down the ledge.

Steel flashed in the moonlight and a curved sword pressed against his throat. Zavrian's golden eyes followed the blade's path towards a familiar face and a mild scent of leather and earthy herbs. The elf grinned. “Nazir, my old friend! How have you been?”

“Better if I hadn't had to go out into this cold night,” the Redguard assassin replied, “but I was told to greet you, so here I am.”

Zavrian gave the metal a pointed look. “I don't recall us saying hello in such a fashion.”

“We were also not expecting any of our own to stir up trouble with the Thalmor,” Nazir explained, “among which there are many wizards, some of whom can magically disguise themselves. In fact, that one of our own survived the massacres in Elsweyr is surprising, to say the least.” He accentuated his point by raising the tip of his blade to lightly graze the elf's skin.

“You know me,” the altmer shot back flippantly, “I'm blessed with dumb luck.”

“We shall see,” was the man's cryptic response and then the high elf heard chanting in a foreign language. Now visible in a spot that had previously looked vacated, a hooded, masked mage in neutral robes appeared, his gloved finger pointing at Zavrian as he completed his spell. A wave of energy washed over the Elsweyri assassin, causing an involuntary shudder to go through him, and then there was a sense of nothingness in the air.

“Any magic still on him has been dispelled,” the wizard stated calmly. Zavrian noticed he didn't even carry any unique scent on him. Going out of his way to keep his identity hidden? “Is this what you were looking for?”

“It is,” the Redguard replied and lowered his sword, “though it raises a lot of other questions.”

“Then my debt to you is repaid and I shall take my leave,” the mage stated and vanished into thin air. Unlike the Thalmor, he didn't seem to go traipsing through Oblivion in order to magically travel. While Zavrian's knowledge on spells was far from complete, he had yet to hear of such things. It piqued his curiosity.

Nazir was the one to interrupt it. “Come along then. Astrid's waiting.” Then he led the elf to the Falkreath sanctuary.

* * *

The Thalmor mage studied the Morag Tong agent. A mysterious wizard who threw spells as casually and easily as he did his insults, soon accompanied by a small army of assassins. The justiciars were well-trained and well-equipped to fend them off, but their numbers were problematic. Sauron would have summoned a portal through Oblivion, had the enemy mage not proven himself able to do the same when he snatched Zavrian away. The assassins circled them, some holding off while others sneaked up from behind. Sauron stood back to back with his soldiers, refusing to give even an inch. In one hand he was ready to blast any would-be assassins with lightning, and in the other was a spell that would place a frosty rune on the ground between him and his enemies. Dunmer were resistant to fire, but electricity and cold not so much.

Two assassins fell to the justiciars' blades, but then the spellswords moved in. Unlike the Dark Brotherhood, the Morag Tong enjoyed being perfectly legit killers back in Morrowind. All their activities were legal, so long as they had a writ, which meant they were better trained in direct combat, and had several warriors among their numbers.

The Thalmor were, for lack of a better term, at a severe disadvantage.

On Sauron's side were the assassins, and behind him were the spellcasting warriors. Unsurprisingly, the Morag Tong had chosen their strategy well – close-up combat for the mage and spellswords strategically placed to sabotage his spellcasting and keep the warriors distracted. Considering how no blades were clashing, Sauron easily concluded that they stayed just out of reach. The second they began casting their spells, the justiciars would have no other choice but to move in and distract them. That, in turn, left their wizard vulnerable.

He could, of course, do his best to move _with_ the warriors, but the spellswords could simply spread out. The area was certainly spacious enough. Try as he might, he struggled to find a way for them to get out of this situation alive.

There seemed to be very few options left. Sauron opened his mouth and spoke. “This is _not_ Morrowind. You don't have the sanction to carry out your assassinations in this country, let alone against the Thalmor organisation! By what right do you do this?”

There was a short pause, with every assassin and spellblade waiting. A heavy silence hung over them, as any night critters had probably been scared off, though it also seemed as if everyone, altmer and dunmer alike, held their breaths to await the response.

“The assassin Zavrian _is_ Morrowind territory.” It was the crusty mage who spoke.

Sauron felt confusion wash over him, and he made a last ditch effort to appeal to them. “Then killing us isn't fair, as we didn't know. You should have issued a warning, at the very least.”

A chuckle sounded from the wizard, soon accompanied by all the other agents. Once it died down, however, an unearthly chill settled over the area. “We don't operate with warnings. Your organisation should have known better than to get involved in the affairs of assassins, or at least done better research on your target.”

That was it, then. What hesitation the altmer mage had managed to create among his enemies was gone, and the assassins closed in on him with determined steps. Judging from their bloodied blades and the lack of any other Thalmor, it seemed they'd already destroyed their reinforcements.

A desperate plan hit Sauron and he shifted his feet to signal his warriors of the change. On the third breath they moved, having trained in this for decades, and the quartet moved in a circular motion until the wizard came face to face with the sellswords, and the justiciars faced off against the assassins. Lightning shot forth from the high elf's right hand and a frost rune was formed on the ground before him while the spellswords were either shot with electricity or backing away from the destructive magic. One of them set to work casting a spell, so Sauron re-directed his lightning bolt to strike him. It fizzled out, however, and the familiar sensation of a _dispelling_ spell came over him. Fortunately he'd been able to distract the warrior long enough to interrupt his spellcasting, but he had only half a breath to get back into the fight before they all jumped him.

Loud, beastly roars sounded from the cave up behind the spellswords, coming from what looked to be several large, dark forms. The moonlight momentarily reflected upon sharp fangs and thick fur, and Sauron easily deduced what kind of creatures they were.

Coming at them at top speed were three very large and angry brown bears, led by a much larger black one. The Tong mage shouted for the other agents to get out of the way, and they obeyed, showing off their supreme acrobatic skills in the process.

“Justiciars, retreat!” Sauron took the lead running down the now cleared mountain path, his warriors right behind him. One assassin tried to strike at them, but his blade was intercepted by the first justiciar before the second one cut him down. They kept running, the shouts of Morag Tong agents somewhere in the background. Their words were in the dunmeri language, which Sauron had yet to study, but he figured they were trying to regroup, perhaps even resume their attack.

He ran as fast as he could.

Despite their superior height and training, even altmer couldn't beat quadrupeds at speed. Sauron wheeled off to the right the second he saw neatly stacked boulders that would support him and the warriors. Then he did as Zavrian had done in his attempt to escape them, and alternated between jumping and running, descending one large rock at a time. His skill was nowhere near the level of the altmer traitor, or his dunmer colleagues, but it got him down unharmed. The fact that the roars of the bears sounded more and more distant encouraged him to keep moving. If Zavrian had reached some sort of Dark Brotherhood safehouse, or found some other way to travel quickly from this place, then they'd lost their quarry. On the other hand, getting away from the Morag Tong alive was quite the accomplishment all on its own.

If they succeeded in the latter, then perhaps the next war with the Empire would come from the east. He certainly relished the idea of purging Nirn of its grey-skinned pests.

The justiciars managed to keep up just fine, better even, a testament to their training. One of them took the lead and landed safely on a patch of land that stretched out towards a path that seemed to lead to the town of Falkreath, albeit in a bit of a roundabout way. Sauron smiled. They may catch their assassin yet.

Then a large, bipedal, furry monster barrelled straight into the justiciar in front of him and sent the well-armoured warrior sprawling. He lost his shield in the process and his swordarm got pinned to the ground when the large beast jumped him. Sauron's jaw dropped in horror as he beheld what could only be a werewolf, its growl carrying an unnatural chill as it tried getting to the meaty flesh under the armour, its sharp claws doing little except bounce off of the metal. The prone justiciar screamed in horror, calling to his comrades for help.

Sauron lost his nerve and ran.

He'd been warned of the dangers of Skyrim, but no-one had told him the Nords had a _lycanthropy_ problem! Didn't they have their own afterlife for those who died in battle? Sovaan-guar or something? Why on Nirn would their people then have the curse of a Daedric Prince running among them? The two remaining warriors hesitated, eyeing their fallen comrade. Sauron turned back around and motioned for them to follow. They did, though another werewolf appeared and grabbed the leg of one of them. The elven warrior saved himself by simply removing his boot, and then he ran for it. Sauron then summoned a curtain of flame to discourage the monster from following.

There was little time to think as they ran for their lives down the hill, avoiding the road and eventually reaching a small river. They stepped into it, hoping it would help those moon-addled beasts from following their scent. The water was deep enough to reach their hips, but they waded through all the same. Sauron had just reached the riverbank when one of the justiciars – the one who'd lost his boot – cried out in pain. The mage turned around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

“Must be slaughterfish,” the other justiciar remarked, which caused the wizard to immediately jump on to the shore. His only interaction with such creatures was from books, and he knew they could easily tear a grown man to shreds with their teeth. The last remaining warrior followed him, and they could only watch as their comrade was dragged underneath the waters, kicking and screaming, his blade slashing wildly. All the noise he made even woke up some mudcrabs who jumped into the water, looking to join in on the slaughter. There was some more struggling, but eventually the waters became very still, until his body resurfaced, limp and facing down.

“By Auri-El I hate this country,” Sauron muttered, walking away from the shores and finding a rock to sit on. Fortunately no hostile wildlife or cursed monsters jumped out at him.

“Kalion might still be alive, My Lord,” the warrior remarked, “should we not help him?”

The mage shook his head. “Against two werewolves? He's an excellent warrior, but even he can't survive that.” He activated the magic in his pendant, which notified his sister to his location. The sooner he was out of there and back on Alinor, the better. That Silvanir had survived was good news to the justiciar's betrothed – Sauron's cousin no less.

“Perhaps if we'd helped him earlier, both he and Haldoril would be alive right now,” Silvanir remarked quietly, but not quiet enough for Sauron to not hear him.

The wizard scoffed. “If we'd done that we'd _all_ be dead. Think of them as with Auri-El now and count yourself lucky to be alive. Clearly Skyrim's reputation for danger was no exaggeration.”

“Then you will be pleased to know that I am relieving you of your duty,” remarked a male voice behind him, in a calm, even tone that always sent chills down the mage's spine. Sauron got up, shocked to find his superior in place of a family member, turned around and immediately knelt, his cousin's fiancé doing the same.

“Master Solalis.” Sauron bowed his head, although not before catching sight of his superior's flickering, translucent form. Naturally, teleportation all the way from Alinor to Skyrim was impossible, except perhaps, for the members of the Psijic Order, and attempting to make the journey through Oblivion was dangerous at best. Projecting a magical image was by far the most effective means of communication, though it prevented the mage in question from interacting with the world around him. “Our mission wasn't a complete failure. We learned valuable things about Zavrian.”

“That he is protected by the Morag Tong,” Solalis replied, “and is considered Morrowind territory, despite being an altmer. Yes, I watched you, especially when you split your team in two and weakened them as a result. Even when you abandoned one of your justiciars to werewolves.”

Sauron swallowed hard. He could get Silvanir to accept his reasonings, but Solalis was another matter altogether. “My Lord, if I had known-”

“You were warned of the dangers of Skyrim,” the higher-ranked elf went on, “and instructed to capture the alfiq before trying to do the same to the assassin. The former might be a mage, but he is no combatant. He was the least dangerous out of the two.”

“It's still possible that the others captured Jodar-Ri,” Sauron tried, but was cut short once again.

“They were butchered.” Solalis stated so matter-of-factly it made Sauron's stomach churn. “Unfortunately I did not see what killed them, as the caravan is too well protected from scrying magic. I had to project myself there, and by the time I did, I could only witness the aftermath.”

“No words can express my regrets at this failure of mine, My Lord.” Sauron thought it best to opt for diplomacy. “However I may have underestimated Zavrian, I do still have valuable information on Jodar-Ri. If you would permit me, I'll _gladly_ resume my hunt for him.”

“With only one surviving justiciar?” The scepticism was heavy in Solalis' voice. “Even Ondolemar is more self-aware than that.”

“My Lord, please let me continue to serve in some capacity,” Sauron begged. Rumours spoke of those who failed in their duties to this mysterious mage, and they were never heard from again. That wasn't a fate the wizard was eager to share. “Even if it means a demotion, I will gladly take it. All for the glory of the Thalmor and our superior race!”

“Why should I?” Solalis argued. “You failed spectacularly because you refused to heed the warnings and listen to the wise counsel of your own sister. She offered you help and resources to survive Skyrim, as well as the assistance of our local agents.”

“And I foolishly refused,” Sauron continued, “choosing instead to trust in some unproven human mercenary. However, in all my life, I've been known to learn from my mistakes and never repeat them, My Lord.” He looked up then, coming face to face with the hard stare of his superior. “I can also assure you that _no-one_ , whether disguised as a cat or protected by dark elven assassins, will lose me for long. Among _all_ the other agents our organisation sent out, I was the only one to not give up. I _found_ them, where the others stumbled around blindly and chased after every housecat from here to Elsweyr. My methods may not have been entirely successful, but they _were_ the most effective.”

A slight change came to Solalis' eyes, something lighting up, as if he'd just had a thought. Hopefully it was something that was to Sauron's benefit as well. “You make a good point, and it is true you uncovered useful information. Unfortunately, I cannot trust you to be in charge. It shall have to be a demotion, then, and I shall have Ondolemar send someone to fetch you. In the meantime, seek refuge in Falkreath. Jarl Siddgeir is familiar with Elenwen and will look after you.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Sauron bowed his head once more. “Thank you, My Lord.” There was no sound or visual effect in the air, but he _felt_ the lack of Solalis' spiritual presence. It was as if a heavy burden had been lifted off of his shoulders and he looked up to see that, indeed, the image was gone. Sauron rose to his feet, as did his future in-law.

Just then, Kalion the justiciar limped into view, his swordarm hanging limp by his side and his armour covered in blood. He'd somehow found his sword again, and sheathed it, and his shield was strapped to his back. His eyes were narrowed into a glare, a bloodied cut running over his nose, and his helmet was gone, leaving his neatly braided hair somewhat dishevelled.

“Kalion!” Silvanir stepped in between them, his voice filled with joy. A laugh even escaped the warrior's lips. “I knew those beasts wouldn't be the end of you!” Much of the wounded warrior's anger disappeared and they shared an embrace, limited on Kalion's side due to his injuries. They even seemed to relax into each other's arms. “Come, let's get your wounds tended to!”

Kalion wasn't done glaring at Sauron. “You abandoned me to those beasts.”

Sauron straightened. “We re-grouped, so as to properly aid you.”

Silvanir's face fell and he shot the mage a look of confusion. It was a flat out lie, and they both knew it.

Meanwhile, Kalion looked unconvinced. “Where's Haldoril?”

“Dead,” Silvanir informed him. “Slaughterfish, quite a few of them, and mudcrabs.”

Kalion's sceptical look went to his fellow fighter. “Slaughterfish and mudcrabs against our armour?”

Silvanir's face turned sad. “He lost his boot to one of the werewolves. It left his leg exposed.”

“I underestimated the dangers of Skyrim,” Sauron supplied honestly, “and for that I take full responsibility. I also regret the losses we've had. Once you're healed, we can pray to Auri-El to receive the souls of our fallen comrades.”

Despite his reservations, Kalion accepted the offer and sat down. Ordinarily, Sauron would rid himself of any potential nuisances, which was what Kalion might prove to be. That wouldn't work with Silvanir present, however, not to mention Kalion was betrothed to Sauron's sister. Furthermore, Kalion's family was shrewd and cunning, and so even if Sauron should succeed in getting rid of the warrior, chances were high he would be found out. Considering his own house's precarious situation back home, that wasn't something he could afford at the moment.

Sauron set to work cleaning the cut on Kalion's face first. Healing it with a spell was simple enough, and the same proved true for his sprained ankle. His arm was broken, however, and would need more extensive treatment.

Sauron had them walk to Falkreath where, indeed, the jarl welcomed them and let them stay inside the longhouse. Once settled in, Silvanir had to use all his strength to hold Kalion down while Sauron reset the bone. The steward Nenya, an altmer woman with a mildly capable talent for magic, provided them with the tools they needed. Despite their best efforts, Kalion made quite the noise as his arm was repaired.

Fortunately, he pretty much fainted from exhaustion shortly after. Silvanir chose to keep watch by the door as, despite the hospitality, he didn't trust the people of the hold.

Sauron was more bothered by the simplicity of Nordic interior design than he was any murder plots, but he put up some protective enchantments all the same. Once done, he collapsed on the remaining bed, darkness claiming him shortly after.

* * *

“He's persistent,” Eltrys remarked from her perch atop a high tree branch. She and the other agents had been forced to retreat due to the bears, and the arrival of the werewolves hadn't helped their hunt any. That one of the justiciars had fallen to slaughterfish and mudcrabs was flat out disappointing. They'd managed to catch up in time to see their leader try to save face before his superior and successfully persuading him into letting him continue his hunt. With the rest of the Tong re-grouping, the duo had resorted to observation rather than inteference.

After all, with the Thalmor as their enemy, any and all information they could gather was worth its weight in gold.

“Yet he's not _completely_ incompetent,” the masked mage, and her own superior, remarked. “Furthermore, I believe we have just unmasked a key player among the Thalmor organisation.”

That piqued the dunmer woman's curiosity. “What makes you say that?”

“Apart from the fact that this mage is clearly his superior,” the mage explained, “let alone referred to as a nobleman, it's also written in the elf's bearing. He's accustomed to people bowing and scraping to him. Yet, there is something else about him...”

Eltrys waited patiently, but when her master didn't come forward with any more information, she decided to change the subject. “I suppose Zavrian is relatively safe with the Brotherhood, and the alfiq is not our concern. Are we to return to Morrowind?” She refrained from referring to the mage by the proper form of address, as per his instructions. After all, he was in disguise, even though he'd risked exposure by wearing such a telltale scarf.

“You can still track him, I trust?”

The woman pressed a hand against her chest, where she felt a pendant that hung around her neck, a full moon on a silver chain. Its golden twin rested around Zavrian's. “Still.”

“I shall keep watch with my scrying tools as well,” the mage concluded. “Furthermore, make sure to use our friends in Skyrim for all they're worth. For now, we should indeed return home. There's business for us both there, and I fear I can no longer cover for your extended vacation in Elsweyr.”

Eltrys hesitated slightly, his words a painful reminder of why she'd been given her free time in the first place. “I... understand.”

“Then let's go,” the mage ushered, and made a shooing motion with his hands. “We've a long journey ahead, and I won't make any shortcuts through Oblivion unless I absolutely must.”

Knowing better than to argue, the assassin obeyed, leaping through the trees with unearthly grace.

* * *

It had taken some effort and arguing from Jodar-Ri to persuade Nezdal into accepting Callum back as a caravan guard. Even then, with his armour torn, the Nord walked around in only his spare clothes, with a sword at his hip and the shield in his hand. Fortunately, no more surprises appeared during their trip to Helgen. Once there, he was able to purchase new armour, much thanks to Nezdal's generous payment. Jodar-Ri had argued that Callum had risked both his life and reputation to save them, and the Nord's non-confrontational attitude had done much to smooth down ruffled feathers.

Still, only the alfiq sat close to the werelion, let alone kept him company when he slept.

The local Nords weren't as friendly with the khajiit as Callum was. They were instructed to remain outside of Helgen while trading with the locals, and only the Nord and Jodar-Ri were allowed inside, mainly because they mistook the latter for a normal house cat. Despite their prejudices, Helgen was built such that in order to get to Whiterun, the caravan had to travel through. They received many uncomfortable stares as they did, to which Nezdal replied with nothing but friendly smiles.

He had more patience in the face of bigotry than his quadruped cousin did.

Riverwood proved to be just the same. Jodar-Ri found himself most unamused, though Callum managed to barter for some healing potions. Most he kept, but the rest he gave to the alfiq, in case of an emergency.

When Callum experienced nightmares that same evening, Jodar-Ri lay down on his chest. It calmed the man almost immediately, especially when the alfiq purred. Just like with Lily.

He was starting to see why a lot of humans wanted to pet and cuddle him, as annoying as such behaviour was. It seemed his race had a positive effect on them. Well, at least the alfiq did, which might suggest that regular house cats did, too.

While he'd never admit it, he felt a bit of joy over being able to help in such a fashion. Perhaps the khajiit should focus on being a positive influence on humans as much as elves? At least, that had been one of the arguments of the Mane and his court back in Elsweyr when they chose to become a part of the Aldmeri dominion. To help the high elves relax and ease up on their excessive desire to control every little thing.

Jodar-Ri was uncertain if such a thing was even remotely possible, now. Perhaps his race was doomed for destruction, regardless of who they sided with.

When Callum's hand came to rest on his head and scratch it in his sleep, the alfiq was reminded to get back to sleep. Once his head was lowered, the large hand dropped back down on the ground. Almost as if he had sensed the alfiq's concerns and instinctively sought to comfort him back.

A single tear travelled down the alfiq's face. After all the stress and lies of this journey, such a simple gesture became all the more powerful. A tremble went through the small feline, and soon he sobbed into Callum's chest. A long hour passed where he wept; for his people, for Zavrian, for his family and even for Callum. He wept for a world where truth held little sway, and dear friends were forced to abandon each other for survival. Pitiful sniffles accompanied the tears, though Callum placed his hand back on top of the alfiq, still with his eyes closed. As Jodar-Ri had comforted the Nord, now the warrior comforted him. He did his best to relax his head, though it still took a while for the tears to stop. Once they did, however, the khajiit fell asleep to the steady rhythm of the man's heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another big thank you to Auri and Savvy for proofreading and offering their suggestions. You guys are awesome, and I don't think I could have done this without you two!
> 
> As for all you lovely readers, more is in the making! These stories are more preliminary than anything, and offer insight into our characters and their effect on the canon storyline, which will diverge in many ways from what you might know from the games. If you like fanfics set in Skyrim's Last Dragonborn questline, but with a twist, subscribe to this series and stay tuned! Kudoses, comments and sharing across social media are always appreciated! Thank you so much for reading, and I hope to see you again in future installments of **The Stormcrown Prophecy**. <3


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